


Hell's Kitchen: The Musical

by perpetualwhim



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Broadway Shenanigans, Community: daredevilkink, Crack, F/M, Gen, Hypnotism, Internet Sleuthing, Light Angst, Love Triangles, Mind Control, Musicals, Teamwork, The Author Regrets Nothing, post-reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetualwhim/pseuds/perpetualwhim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new supervillain terrorizing Hell's Kitchen, and suddenly everyone is....singing? When musical interludes threaten lives, secrets, and good taste, only Matt Murdock can save the day. That is, if he can stop laughing first.</p><p>Featuring Foggy Nelson as Sancho, Karen Page as The Russian, and Matt Murdock as the reluctant hero (bothered for a rhyme). With apologies to Frank Wildhorn, Tim Rice, Jonathan Larson, and others--sorry, not sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blind Matthew Murdock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's musical number is set to the tune of ["I, Don Quixote"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEnDOXmyU-o) from Man of La Mancha.

Matt closed the office door behind him and took a deep breath. He could smell Karen's perfume and Foggy's shampoo, could feel their presence in the room, but neither one said a word. He leaned back, resting his head against the door. "I need someone to tell me I'm not crazy."

Foggy's response was a sharp exhalation, a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God," he said, "you hear it, too."

"The music," Karen said, shakily. "Please tell me you're talking about the music."

"And singing!" Foggy said, fear creeping in around the edge of his voice. "Why is everyone singing? It's really creepy!"

Matt nodded. He couldn't hear any music, but it took all his willpower to block out the cacophony of voices singing all around him. The realtor down the hall was singing a triumphant ballad about closing a sale; a hot dog vendor down the street was hawking his wares in a lilting tenor; a group of schoolchildren were doing an ensemble piece about playing hooky. It was incredibly distracting; he was showing up late today because he couldn't focus on getting ready over the sound of his upstairs neighbors arguing in counterpoint. "So I take it you two have no idea what's going on?"

"None whatsoever," Foggy said. Karen shook her head, her hair rustling softly. "Um…have either of you sung anything?"

"Not me," Matt said.

"I have," said Karen, sheepish. "In the shower. My hot water ran out, and I broke out into this weird sorrowful ballad about being cold. And the crazy thing is, I didn't get out or move or anything—I just stood there in the cold water and sang until my teeth were chattering."

"That sucks," Foggy said. "Mine was a little better. I did a little breakfast dance while I was making eggs, which, you know, I actually do sometimes, so it didn't seem too strange at first. But then when they were done it turned into a terrible 80s-style rap, which I definitely _don't_ do. I spent a while rapping about how I make the best scrambled eggs, and then ate cold eggs."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Matt said.

"Cold eggs are gross."

"What did you sing about, Matt?" Karen asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on, man," Foggy whined. "We told you ours!"

"I'm serious; I didn't sing a note."

Foggy made a harrumphing sound, but stopped pressing. "So. What should we do?"

Matt shrugged and went to put his things by his desk. "I don't know that there's anything we _can_ do. If it's affecting everyone, I'm sure someone will figure it out eventually. It's kind of outside my realm of expertise."

"How can you be so blasé about this…whatever it is? I'm completely freaking out!"

"It's not aliens attacking New York or gods falling from the sky. This seems relatively harmless." Matt busied himself with setting up his laptop and braille display, and tried to ignore the fact his hands were shaking. Staying calm is easier said than done.

"I don't know," Karen said, "it seems pretty dangerous to me. If my song had been longer, I might have given myself hypothermia. Some 90-year-old lady might start to dance, and fall and break her hip."

Foggy chimed in. "Or someone could lose control of a vehicle. Don't do jazz hands and drive, kids!"

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, he heard a faint crackling sound overhead. He cocked his head to listen—it was coming from the lights.

"Ugh, not again," Karen muttered. "If the lights keep flickering like this, I'm going to get a migraine."

"Me too," Foggy said. "Old wiring, I guess. If it doesn't stop by the end of the day, I'll call the leasing office."

The crackling continued for a few more seconds and then stopped. Karen sighed in relief. "I think it's definitely time for some coffee. I'll go make a pot."

Foggy waited until the sound of running water came from the kitchen and said, "come on, Matt! You can't just go on, business as usual. This is seriously freaky stuff; you should be hitting the streets or something. Or maybe hitting faces, if that would help, but it probably wouldn't."

"There's nothing I can do," Matt said, palms up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not a scientist, or a psychologist, or a neurologist. I'm just a lawyer."

Foggy circled his desk, and his steps had a strange rhythm—measured and regular. "You're not _just_ a lawyer." When he stopped walking, the rhythm didn't stop.

Dear lord, he was _bouncing._

> _Listen Matt, you oblivious fool of a man,_

Foggy sang, his voice strong and clear despite the terrible acoustics of the room.

> _Full of bravery, honor, and light._

"Are you seriously singing right now?" Matt said flatly. Foggy shrugged and kept going.

> _You help those who need it whenever you can.  
>  Somehow you find the courage to fight_
> 
> _You are blind Matthew Murdock  
>  Protector, defender  
>  Of downtrodden dregs of mankind._

Matt groaned.

> _You're cleansing Hell's Kitchen_  
>  _Of crime and corruption._  
>  _The truth that you seek you will find._  
>  _If you seek the truth, you will find_  
>  _That justice shall ever be blind!_

From the kitchen, Karen's voice joined in. She didn't seem to be singing to them; she was still facing the coffeemaker, trying to separate a filter from the stack.

> _Matt Murdock! Yes, Matt Murdock!_  
>  _Innocent lives are what he'll defend._  
>  _I'll help him if he'll let me._  
>  _He's my boss, he's my friend!_

"Karen?" Matt called out, but there was no answer. Foggy leaned towards him, secretive, and began singing in a hushed tone.

> _But there's more to this hero than sometimes appears;_  
>  _A side he won't show in the light._

Foggy's voice was building to a crescendo, and Matt panicked. "Karen is right there! Don't—"

> _He features in every criminals' fears_  
>  _Daredevil, help us tonight!_

Foggy's arms were spread wide, his voice echoing through the small office (and that shouldn't be possible; the floors were carpeted and there were books and papers everywhere), but Matt could sense no surprise from Karen. No change in breathing or heartbeat; it was as if she hadn't heard. As Foggy launched into the chorus again, Karen sang her same verse in counterpoint.

> _You are Daredevil, Murdock_  
>  _Protector, defender_  
>  _(Matt Murdock! Matt Murdock!)_  
>  _Of downtrodden dregs of mankind._  
>  _(Innocent lives are what he'll defend.)_  
>  _You're cleansing Hell's Kitchen_  
>  _Of crime and corruption._  
>  _(I'll help him if he'll let me.)_  
>  _The truth that you seek you will find._  
>  _(He's my boss, he's my friend!)_  
>  _If you seek the truth, you will find_  
>  _That justice shall ever be blind!_

Panting slightly, Foggy took a bow.

"What the hell, Foggy? Karen is in the next room! The whole floor probably heard!"

"Heard what?" Karen called from the kitchen. "Were you guys singing, too?"

Matt boggled. "You didn't hear?"

"No," Karen said, stirring her coffee in the doorway. "I was kind of in my own little world there, singing to myself." She paused; Matt could hear the elevated heartbeat that meant she was probably flushing in the way Foggy described as "completely freaking adorable." "You, uh…didn't hear me, did you?"

Matt pressed his lips together firmly to keep from laughing. Foggy's voice wavered almost imperceptibly as he said, "no, we were too wrapped up in our lawyering ditty."

"I'm going to get some coffee," Matt said, moving as quickly as he could to the kitchen while his shoulders shuddered with barely-contained laughter.


	2. Tell Us!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is to the tune of ["Murder, Murder" ](https://youtu.be/ezdTfa7JwpM?t=56s)from Jekyll and Hyde. (With a brief mention of ["Beer Beer Beer"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pt0-gRrrpuw), a traditional Irish drinking song.

The rest of the day passed relatively quietly, mainly by design. Foggy couldn't prove that Karen was avoiding them, but he had his theories—she seemed inordinately preoccupied with making sure the kitchen was clean and stocked, except for when Matt or Foggy went in there, when she would suddenly have to go to the bathroom. Foggy spent most of the day doing research, since they'd taken on a tricky contract case, and he hadn't done much contract law since his days at Landman & Zack. If that meant he spent most of the day with his nose in a book and no reason to open his mouth, much less belt out an aria...well, that was a damn shame, wasn't it?

Matt, the lucky bastard, didn't seem to be affected by the musical weirdness at all—or at least, he wasn't singing. He did, however, spend most of the day pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing into his hands. Given how much of the neighbors' ballads Foggy was able to hear, he figured Matt must be having a hell of a time focusing on much of anything.

By the end of the day, Foggy had a pounding headache from the intermittently flickering lights, but he didn't trust his own composure enough to call the leasing office to complain. Complaints could wait until after the end of Hell's Kitchen: The Musical.

Around 5:15, he was startled out of his reading by Matt tapping the corner of his desk. "I could really use a drink or six," Matt said. "Want to join me?"

Rubbing his eyes, Foggy said, "sure, I guess. If I break into song, I can always blame it on the booze." He dug around for a not-terribly-important piece of paper to use as a bookmark, and craned his head to look in the kitchen. "Karen, are you coming?"

Karen glanced up from scrubbing the floor grout. "No, I'm good," she said, her words clipped. "Just going to go home when I finish up here." Foggy did his best not to laugh, and Matt seemed to be having as tough a time of it as he was.

When they got to Josie's, a group of college kids were doing a drunken rendition of "Beer, Beer, Beer" in the corner, but the bar was otherwise pretty calm. Josie set their drinks in front of them without comment, and a half hour later, Foggy was starting to feel almost normal again. That is, until he caught a glimpse of the six o'clock news on the TV. He groaned when he saw the headline: "Hell's Kitchen Brainwashed?", but he waved to catch Josie's attention anyway. "Could you turn that up?" he asked, and she obliged.

"--seems to be contained to an area of half a square mile in Hell's Kitchen, but no cause has been found yet. Jennifer Spade is on the scene with more."

The smiling anchor gave way to a serious-looking reporter standing on a sidewalk. A number of people milled about behind her—the usual foot traffic, given the time of day, but it seemed more orderly somehow. From nowhere in particular, Foggy heard rhythmic chords. "Oh boy," he said, "here we go."

The reporter began to sing into her microphone.

> _We've got a situation_  
>  _It's quite an orchestration_  
>  _See all these people, cursed to sing!_
> 
> _This morning lights were flashing_  
>  _Now teeth are surely gnashing_  
>  _What doom can cheerful music bring?_

Behind her, the pedestrians moved into a staggered formation and took over. The reporter stepped out of the camera's view.

> _Who did it, we don't know_  
>  _Did they just want a show?_  
>  _Will we all speak in rhyme_  
>  _Until the end of time?_  
>  _Some villain is to blame_  
>  _We're all pawns in his game_  
>  _Someone explain_  
>  _This dark refrain!_

"Aaaaand...yep, they're dancing," Foggy said, and took another swig of his beer.

"I can tell," Matt muttered.

> _Tell us, tell us—why do we sing?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—it's a strange thing_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—we're all listening_  
>  _Tell us when this song will end!_
> 
> _Tell us, tell us—what's the goal here?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—what should we fear?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—is the end near?_  
>  _Tell us when this song will end!_

The camera panned back to the reporter, standing with a man in a priest's collar. Inexplicably, there were a handful of choir singers behind him. "A local pastor has his own theories," the reporter said. Mournfully, the pastor started to sing, with the choir backing him up.

> _Look to the shadows for the truth of this_  
>  _(Guilty men will shrink back from the sun.)_  
>  _We know we have a devil in our midst_  
>  _(The devil's work is never done.)_

The reporter turned to her next interviewee, a woman holding a white-tipped cane. "Miraculously, a handful of residents have been unaffected, and they all have one thing in common: they're blind."

The blind woman leaned in to the microphone. "None of my visually-impaired friends have been singing, and to be honest, we all think it's really annoying. Just...everywhere you go, everyone is singing. It's like the karaoke night from hell."

The camera followed the reporter as she strode across the street, singing once again.

> _Hell's Kitchen wants an answer_  
>  _Is this some kind of cancer?_  
>  _A tumor pressing on our brains?_

"Oh, man," Foggy said to Matt, giggling helplessly. "There's a doctor on the screen right now, and she's wearing a lab coat. A lab coat and a fucking _stethoscope._ "

> _I've seen a dozen cases_  
>  _X-rayed a dozen places_  
>  _And still found nothing that explains_
> 
> _We could be hypnotized_  
>  _Our free will paralyzed_  
>  _Or we've been dosed en masse_  
>  _With some narcotic gas_  
>  _Some think it's God's creation_  
>  _Or water fluoridation_  
>  _All that we know_  
>  _Is we don't know_

Once again, the crowd was dancing with choreography that would've made Agnes de Mille weep.

> _Tell us, tell us—will our hearts stop?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—will our lungs pop?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—will we just drop?_  
>  _Tell us when this song will end!_
> 
> _Tell us, tell us—who did this deed?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—what do they need?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—will we be freed?_  
>  _Tell us when this song will end!_

The reporter was offering her microphone to a guy with a service dog. "I tried to order a sandwich at Subway, and it took fifteen minutes because the girl was in training, and the manager had to do some kind of rock montage to show her what to do. I've only got a 30 minute lunch break!"

When the camera panned around again, Foggy choked on his beer. Matt thumped him on the back, and he coughed and then laughed and then coughed again.

A bunch of police officers were dancing, perfectly synchronized.

> _Our neighborhood is full of song and dance_  
>  _(And awkward rhyme)_  
>  _But we've got better things to do than prance_  
>  _(Like fighting crime)_
> 
> _We can't stop serenading,_  
>  _With gun and badge parading_  
>  _While looters are invading_  
>  _Run!_
> 
> _We can't protect our city_  
>  _With rhymes, however witty_  
>  _We're helpless 'til this ditty's_  
>  _Done!_

The crowd joined in, stepping among the police officers and occasionally twirling them.

> _Tell us, tell us—who's to blame here?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—what's their aim here?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—we've the same fear_  
>  _Tell us when this song will end!_

The reporter was talking to another blind guy. "My best friend got hit by a car this morning, and she's lucky to be alive. Apparently she just started tap-dancing right into traffic. I didn't even know she could tap dance."

Taking her microphone back, the reporter went on, with the crowd echoing her words.

> _The story's getting stranger_  
>  _It seems we're all in danger_  
>  _When our attention's on a song_  
>  _(When our attention's on a song)_

This time, she was talking to a few nurses, still in their scrubs.

> _We've lost a vocal victim_  
>  _He sang of every symptom_  
>  _But something went completely wrong._  
>  _(The doctors only sang along!)_

Foggy didn't even react as the doctor from earlier strode in and added her voice to theirs, because of course she did. What else would she do?

> _We don't know how to treat_  
>  _This telepathic beat_  
>  _No drug is helping yet_  
>  _To fight this lyric threat_  
>  _Until we know the cause_  
>  _We're caught in terror's jaws_  
>  _This deadly tune_  
>  _Will end us soon!_

The reporter was back on, with the crowd still backing her up.

> _Officials ask that everyone stay calm_  
>  _(What do they know?)_  
>  _The CDC is working on a balm_  
>  _(They work too slow!)_
> 
> _The villain's hiding, clearly_  
>  _While we are paying dearly_  
>  _The truth is they have nearly_  
>  _Won!_

The camera slowly zoomed out, and for the first time, Foggy thought to be impressed by the camerawork going in to this report. As the angle widened, the entire cast was visible--doctor, nurses, pastor, cops--and their voices rose to match their frenzied dancing. The three blind people stood impassively in the back.

> _We can't protect our city_  
>  _With rhymes, however witty_  
>  _We're helpless 'til this ditty's_  
>  _Done!_
> 
> _Tell us, tell us—why disaster?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—who's its master?_  
>  _Tell us, tell us—tell us faster!_  
>  _Tell us when this song will end!_
> 
> _Tell us!_

For a few seconds, everyone on screen held their finishing pose, then as one, they relaxed and continued doing whatever they'd been doing at the start. The camera closed in once more on the reporter, who smoothed her hair and stood up a little straighter.

"Back to you, Sarah."

Foggy turned to Matt, whose mouth hung open in a look of utter confusion. "I can't help but feel like I missed something there," he finally said.

Foggy patted him on the back. "Me too, buddy. Me too."


	3. Don't Deserve His Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is to the tune of ["Where I Want to Be"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6kOwdFlf-k) from Chess.

Karen watched from the window as Matt's hand reached up and linked effortlessly with Foggy's arm, a gesture born of years of familiarity. Most of the time it seemed like Matt didn't need Foggy to guide him, but he did it anyway; she was pretty sure neither of them even thought about it anymore.

It was sweet, she had to admit, even when it made her feel like a cold hand was squeezing her heart.

She really didn't blame Foggy. She'd had a crush on Matt, too, back when she'd first met him. Something about that self-effacing smile that lit up his face even when he was literally saving her life. She'd had a few intense dreams about those lips and the things they might say, but then she'd recognized her infatuation for what it was and stepped back before she embarrassed herself. Matt was a good friend and a great boss, and he was pretty obviously not into her. And it wasn't even a lie when she said that she was fine with that.

Foggy had been another thing entirely. She'd been too distracted by his incredibly hot partner to pay much attention at first, but as they got to know each other better, she found herself hopelessly lost in him. Their first--and last--date had been a debacle, but she still found it hard to remember a time when she'd been happier with the company. 

She thought he'd felt the same way, but just when they seemed to be getting somewhere, he'd pulled away. That in itself wouldn't have been so bad, but it was harder to cope when she could see exactly why, and with whom he was spending all that time now.

And really, who did they think they were fooling? "Matt's not coming in today because he's sick, and I've got to take care of him, and no, don't bother coming over because blah blah contagious or something." How was it possible to feel so much like a third wheel when she wasn't even _there?_

Karen surveyed the kitchen one last time before she left--she'd done a damn good job, even if it was all just an excuse to stay away from Matt and Foggy in case she suddenly felt the need to sing her frustrations out at them. If this didn't stop by tomorrow, she'd probably have to "accidentally" lock herself in the supply closet. It needed some organizing anyway.

The trip home took a little longer than usual due to a few minor song-and-dance numbers in the streets. It turned out the panhandlers were a lot more annoying when they were musical. Once she was safely inside with her door locked, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. Her love life aside, she had a pretty good reason for not wanting to sing about her innermost thoughts: one particular event that was never far from her mind, and could get her in worlds of trouble if anyone knew. 

It always came back to that. Memories of an oily smirk, her knees shaking, the feel of a gun in her hand. The cold resignation as she pulled the trigger. The silence that came afterward.

She picked up the music box from on top of her dresser. She'd had it since she was a little girl, and its music always soothed her. She wound it up and set it down to play, watching the tiny porcelain dancers spin lazily, locked in their eternal waltz. 

Something wasn't right, though. The chiming notes were louder, stronger; the song was subtly different than she remembered. _Oh, right,_ she thought. _Music._

She turned away from the dresser and began to sing.

> _I thought we had_  
>  _Something nice going_  
>  _We were a pair_  
>  _Feelings were growing_  
>  _Then something changed_  
>  _Distance between us_  
>  _He didn't know_  
>  _He'd never seen us_
> 
> _Life spun around_  
>  _From feast to famine_  
>  _His dearest friend_  
>  _Stole my companion_  
>  _It hurts to say_  
>  _I'm happy for him_  
>  _He won't be mine_  
>  _Still I adore him_
> 
> _Now I've_  
>  _Done a lot of things and seen a lot of things and when he looks at me I swear his piercing eyes can see I don't deserve his love._  
>  _But_  
>  _Still I long for him and dream about a day when we can be together even though I know I'm not the one he's thinking of._
> 
> _When he smiles at someone else_  
>  _What do I care? He'll never know me_
> 
> _Call me a fool_  
>  _I'm still not leaving_  
>  _I'm by his side_  
>  _Silently grieving_  
>  _I wish him well_  
>  _Watch him discreetly_  
>  _Please keep him safe_  
>  _Love him completely_
> 
> _Now I've_  
>  _Done a lot of things and seen a lot of things and when he looks at me I swear his piercing eyes can see I don't deserve his love._  
>  _But_  
>  _Still I long for him and dream about a day when we can be together even though I know I'm not the one he's thinking of._
> 
> _When he smiles at someone else_  
>  _What do I care? He'll never know me_

Karen sank down onto her bed, defeated. Dinner could wait; she just wanted to sleep.


	4. Team Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No song this chapter, but coming up next is everyone's favorite part of the show: the villain song!

"Team meeting!" Foggy announced, dropping his bag on his desk and pulling out his laptop. 

Karen looked up from her clipboard. "Do you need me? I was just about to start on the supply closet."

"Yes, get your beautiful brain in here! You too, Matt."

"This isn't going to turn into a song, is it?"

"No promises," Foggy replied, opening up the documents he'd been working on. "But I sure hope not. This morning I spent ten minutes serenading my hash browns. Why do I keep singing about breakfast?"

"It is the most important meal of the day," Karen said with a small grin.

Matt dragged his chair over to Foggy's desk and sat down. "What are we meeting about? Not the Thompson case again, I hope."

"No, no," Foggy said with a dismissive wave, "that's coming along just fine. Slow and excruciatingly boring, but fine. This is about the more present problem."

Matt and Karen both sighed, but neither one left, so Foggy continued. "I thought we should pool our resources and see what we come up with. You know, to keep safe," he added quickly, noting Karen's look of confusion. "I've been reading a lot of articles and following the reddit threads about it pretty closely, and I've got a summary here of what we know and what we don't."

"Reddit?" Karen said. "That counts as research now?"

"I'm with Karen," Matt said. "I wouldn't put too much faith in what you read there."

"Never underestimate the power of hundreds of bored nerds with unlimited access to information," Foggy said solemnly. "Seriously, man, you don't use reddit?"

Matt smirked. "Until screen readers get better at describing kittens and pornography, I don't see much point."

"I'm serious," Foggy said with a sigh, "these guys are pretty amazing detectives, and it's a great way to get all the information in one place."

"Okay, then," Karen said. "What do we know?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Foggy tapped a couple of keys, and his summary document popped up on the screen. "Obviously, we're dealing with some form of mass hypnotism, and the commands are delivered remotely through the lights." He pointed up at the light fixture which, conveniently, had just started flickering again.

Karen nodded. "Yeah, the lights in my apartment have been doing the same thing. Even the numbers on my alarm clock are doing it."

"Right, it's happening everywhere," Foggy continued. "Even outside. Street lights, neon signs, traffic lights--anything that lights up and is connected to the power grid. And it's still going on, even though everyone in the area who can see is already affected, so reddit thinks that the effect isn't permanent. Whoever's responsible has to keep re-zapping us to keep the effect turned on."

"Seems easy," Karen said. "All we have to do is close our eyes when the flickering starts, and it'll wear off."

Foggy shook his head. "Nope. Apparently the first part of the subliminal message is a command to keep your eyes open. Everyone who's tried to close their eyes has said they just can't do it, myself included. The only way to break free is for absolutely everyone to keep their eyes closed at all times, and even then we don't know how long it'll take to wear off."

Matt gave a wry smile. "So the good news is that once they figure out how to stop the flashing, I can finally get some peace and quiet."

"Eventually, yes." The room fell silent for a while. Finally, Foggy said, "do either of you have anything to add?"

They both shook their heads. Foggy groaned. "You guys are useless. Well, that's all I've got. Meeting adjourned, or whatever."

Karen shut herself in the supply closet almost immediately. Foggy wandered over and perched on the edge of Matt's desk. "Yes?" Matt asked, still dragging his fingers across his braille display.

Foggy scrubbed a hand through his hair, then crossed his arms to stop himself from fidgeting any more. Casting one more glance at the closed door of the supply closet, he said, "there's another problem that we have to deal with. It's about your nighttime activities."

"I was afraid of that."

"If you're out there and a song breaks out, what are you going to do?"

Matt sat back, looking puzzled. "Why would I need to do anything?"

God, Matt was so _frustrating_ sometimes. Sometimes it was impossible to tell if he was actually clueless or just being willfully obtuse. "Because, idiot--if you're not singing along, someone's going to realize you're not affected. Once the internet finds out that Daredevil is blind, I give it about two and a half minutes before someone figures out your secret identity. Cover: blown."

"I think you're overestimating how interested the internet is in me."

"No way, man--have you even _seen_ the Daredevil subreddit?"

"Technically, no."

"Sorry, phrasing. Still, they've already got a pretty comprehensive list of 'known facts,' and I'm a little uncomfortable with how close they already are. Come on, Matt," Foggy practically whined, "try to be at least a _little_ worried about this."

Matt rested his chin on folded hands, and pursued his lips thoughtfully. After a while, he said, "you're right, Foggy. I haven't been taking this very seriously because...well, can you really blame me? It's _singing,_ for pete's sake. The whole situation is absurd."

Foggy smiled--it really was. If he weren't so naturally inclined towards worrying, he'd probably be enjoying the hell out of the situation. If it had been happening somewhere else, he'd have been watching YouTube videos of it and laughing his ass off.

Matt continued. "I'll start taking it seriously. Send me what you've got on it, and I'll look it over and try to figure something out."

 _Finally._ Relieved, Foggy placed his hand on Matt's shoulder. "Thanks, buddy. And let me know if I can help with anything."

"I will. I promise."


End file.
